


Tacet: Dawn

by Marguerite



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s03e22 Posse Comitatus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-16
Updated: 2009-03-16
Packaged: 2019-05-30 17:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15101279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marguerite/pseuds/Marguerite
Summary: "I'm so sorry, he doesn't say aloud, but CJ hears him anyway."





	Tacet: Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

TACET II: DAWN

Classification: Post-ep for "Posse Comitatus." Josh POV.  
Summary: "I'm so sorry, he doesn't say aloud, but CJ hears him anyway."

***  
Tacet II: Dawn  
***

Josh doesn't want to do anything but listen to them breathe.

Amy stands by his side, straining to hear as Sam gives him the bad news from a hundred miles away, up in the air, his voice hushed and reverent.

It's impossible, Josh thinks as he holds on to the phone with cold, nerveless fingers. He's been so shaken over the idea that someone could want to hurt CJ - there's no way he could've seen this coming. Besides, hadn't Leo called a while ago and said they'd gotten the guy? But there are too many guys to get, and Simon Donovan has just found that out the hard way.

Of course the call is from Air Force One. Sam tells him that CJ's alone in the conference room and Toby stands guard over her privacy. They'll land in an hour, all but Ron, who's supervising the investigation, and Simon's body, which is at the coroner's office for an autopsy.

Josh tells Sam that he'll go to Andrews and meet them.

There's too much security, Sam warns. The agents are wound up tighter than a cheap watch, and there's something going on that Leo won't tell anyone. He and the President are holed up in private. This can't be good.

So Josh decides to wait at the office. He hands the phone back to Amy, who watches him with wary, dark eyes. She seems smaller without the aura of indignation. He tells her about the robbery and about CJ. She asks if he's okay - not because he knew Simon well, because he really didn't, but because Amy probably suspects that there's something about that kind of wound that will always make his breathing become labored. He shrugs and leans over to kiss her. It's not tender. Not needy. Only Josh could kiss absentmindedly.

When he gets outside Amy's building he doesn't remember leaving it. There's a hint of cherry blossom in the night air. Underneath is the tang of sulfur, or maybe that's an olfactory hallucination. Stanley's in town; Josh thinks he ought to call him and ask about whether he's stopped hearing things and started smelling things. He walks for three or four blocks before he realizes that there are cabs buzzing around him. He lifts a hand to signal one, tells the driver where he's going.

At this hour? the driver's expression seems to ask, so Josh pulls out his wallet to show the I.D. card. No terrorist, he. Just this guy, whose friend is in pain.

He shows the I.D. again at the main gate. There are more agents around than normal, probably because of whatever Sam was talking about. In fact, there are more people outside than in tonight. Donna's gone, asleep, unaware. It's just him tonight, pacing from office to office, racketing around all by himself.

Simon's photo is on the news already. Josh turns up the volume on one of the half-dozen sets in the bullpen. It's deja vu. He'd watched the endless stream of videotape during his recuperation. The difference is that when it had been his photo on the news, he wasn't quite dead. Didn't die, after all.

Had it been like this for them two springs ago? He ponders that while scanning the other channels for their coverage. Sam had said the press corps on the plane was incredibly respectful, but the network media is showing no such scruples with their video of an agonized CJ being guided to the motorcade between Sam and Toby. He wonders again: had it been like this for them two springs ago?

Movement in the hall. They're back. They've come home. CJ is wearing Toby's jacket over her gown but she's still shivering. Her face is an enigma, wan and tight and expressionless. Josh wants to touch her arm but he doesn't know how to be gentle enough to keep from breaking her.

Carol is walking behind them, looking stricken. Josh can't hold CJ in his arms but he can console Carol with a hug. She arches into his embrace like a cat, then goes to do whatever she can for her boss. Sam and Toby pull Josh aside. Sam is worried because CJ hasn't cried. Toby thinks she has, though, back when she first heard. That's how she does these things, he tells them. Alone. And only once.

When CJ emerges she has car keys in her hand. Simon had replaced the parts he'd pulled out. Just an hour before they left, he'd done it. His hands, warm and alive, putting bits of Mustang back in place. The three men follow CJ to the car and she stands shivering in the surprisingly cool May air. The reddish gold hair on her arms is downy over the gooseflesh, and her hands shake as she points the key at the lock. Something is keeping her from touching the car.

They go in Sam's car instead. It's the most reliable. The safest.

They don't talk as Sam guides them through the starless night. CJ won't talk; neither will she bend. She won't break. Not even when they get to her place and she lets the men into her living room, tottering a little on high heels that don't work well with flight-swollen feet. She sits on the sofa, staring straight ahead, and Toby sits by her side, close enough that she can surely sense his warmth.

Sam putters around in the unused kitchen until he finds tea. Chamomile, Josh notes. Isn't that what women drink when they want to feel better? He'd feel better if there were something he could do. So Toby is the watchdog and Sam the caregiver. What is Josh, as he stands behind the sofa and observes the muscular curve of CJ's back? What is his role?

He crosses in front of the sofa and sits on his heels. CJ looks down at him, lost, eyes vacant. He takes her hands and brings them to his lips. I'm so sorry, he doesn't say aloud, but CJ hears him anyway. She moves her right hand down to his chest. Fifth intercostal space. He lived; Simon died.

CJ leans toward Josh until their foreheads touch. They've kissed once. It was after a long fundraiser, sweetly, drunkenly, just-this-side of brother and sister. CJ had tasted like champagne that night, and said Josh, like all men, tasted like coffee. Josh wonders if she'll ever be able to bear the taste of coffee or of a man's lips again. He knows she will. This is CJ. His CJ, their CJ.

Sam passes tea around in white ceramic mugs. Too much sugar. It'd hurt Sam's feelings if anyone said so. They all take little sips. Josh feels the warmth coursing through him and the steam brings moisture to his eyes. It takes away the bitter edge.

A Valium ends up in CJ's hands. Sam has given it to her, straight from a bottle in his jacket. Sam carries Valium? But CJ doesn't question it. She takes the pill, swallows it dry and washes it down with sweet Sam's sweet tea. Bizarre communion, pills and chamomile.

After a while, when CJ's body uncoils, Toby leads her to the bedroom. CJ is still in her evening gown but Toby takes off her shoes and places them at the side of the bed. He toes off his own shoes as well. Toby looks like newsprint in his tuxedo, all black-and-white and so clearly readable. Guilty. His jealousy had been palpable. He'd been envious of this dashing man who was being paid to stand in front of a bullet for CJ. Toby'd have done it for free. Would've paid for the privilege. Now his rival's dead and Toby, who was born for the burden of self-awareness, is surely blaming himself for turning God's odds against Simon.

CJ asks Toby to sit with her a while. Apologizes to Sam and Josh, but she just can't stay awake anymore even though she's terrified about what she'll dream. Besides, it'll be morning soon and she'll have to do the briefing. Just a few hours, maybe a little rest, some sleep, perchance.

Toby pulls up the little damask-covered chair and sits like a statue of some literary figure pondering an eternal mystery. Bearded marble. He holds CJ's hand until it relaxes and stops trembling.

At the kitchen table, Sam sits with his head down on his folded arms. With a voice like broken glass, Josh asks if this is what it had been like. He doesn't have to explain that he's talking about Rosslyn. Did it feel like this?

Yes. Helpless. Afraid.

Josh had missed this feeling the first time. He'd been too busy breathing and bleeding. It's easier to bleed than wait, he decides. Certainly easier to bleed than mourn.

A few minutes later they smile wanly at each other when they hear the soft rumble of Toby's snore. Josh peers into the bedroom and sees Toby leaning sideways in the chair, his fingers still lightly threaded through CJ's. But he doesn't get to tell Sam about it, because Sam's succumbed to the late hour and has fallen quietly asleep - even his breathing is orderly and neat - at the table.

So Josh stands in the doorway. He's the one who's awake this time, silent, hands behind his back. Dawn touches them through the airy curtains at CJ's windows, but they don't waken and Josh doesn't want to do anything but listen to them breathe.

***  
END  
***

Feedback would be welcome.


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